


What was Promised Here

by uniformly



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fic for Victory 2k11, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniformly/pseuds/uniformly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was odd, he found, to wedge his way between a pair who had already formed a solid friendship. And it didn’t help that Alex was somewhat on the quiet side, preferring to sit back when it came to conversation.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What was Promised Here

**Author's Note:**

> FFV entry from 2k11, for Skew. Beta work by Augustbird and Shan. Remaining mistakes are mine. HBO representation only.

*

Easy Company had been in England for less than a week and already training was in full swing. With each man in peak physical condition and the coveted Jump Wings pinned to the breast of their uniforms, all that was left was what would take them into Europe: weaponry – both American and German alike –, manoeuvres, tactics, short range combat. Alex Penkala had been assigned to the mortar squad; a three man team along with Malarkey and Skip.

He had become acquainted with both Donald Malarkey and Skip Muck in Camp McCall, back in the States. They were hard to miss. Skip especially, in being just as notorious as George Luz for a good laugh.

“You coming?”

Alex stared. “What?”

Skip gestured to Malarkey and himself. “Got a pass, can wander around and introduce ourselves to the ladies—” he prompted.

“Drink,” Malarkey added.

Alex watched as Skip laughed, nudging Malarkey’s side with an elbow as he did. There was an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach at the sight, though it baffled him as to why.

Alex opened his mouth, prepared to offer an excuse. It was odd, he found, to wedge his way between a pair who had already formed a solid friendship. And it didn’t help that Alex was somewhat on the quiet side, preferring to sit back when it came to conversation. He didn’t have the quick tongue Malarkey possessed, or the same easy humour as Skip.

“I know that look,” Skip interrupted, “you’re coming with us and that’s it.”

Alex blinked.

“I have no say in the matter, do I?” he asked finally.

“None,” Skip said with a shake of the head. “Absolutely none at all.”

-

“You’re not serious.”

Skip gestured, a cigarette pinched between his fingers as he spoke. “I’m not kidding you. I swam right across.”

“Please believe him,” Malarkey pleaded from across the table. “I’m not sure how many times I can listen to this story.”

The pub was packed with soldiers and civilians alike. The air inside thick with cigarette smoke and conversation. Alex shuffled his chair closer to the table, jamming his waist against the lip of the thing to avoid the stray elbows of people squeezing past.

“Fill me in later,” he said.

“You’re asking for it.”

“Once Mal has passed out from the sheer amount of liquor he’s drinking, fill me in.”

“That’s an unfair approximation of my heritage.”

“Unfair?” Skip asked. “Or an accurate reflection?”

“Just because you’re taking cues from Harry—“

The night ended with Malarkey slung between them. As expected, Skip had commented, his words wry as he glanced to Malarkey’s blissfully inebriated expression causing Alex to laugh.

“You did warn him,” Alex said once he collected himself.

“Mal,” Skip said, “we’d really appreciated it if you could act sober for any officer who passes by. We’re dumping your body otherwise, especially if it’s Sobel.”

“Sir,” Malarkey said, batting the back of Alex’s head with a hand before realising that he wasn’t in a position to salute.

Alex pressed his lips together and, beside him, Skip laughed. Alex cast a look over Malarkey’s bowed head, and Skip met his look with a grin that was fast becoming familiar. Alex found he could do nothing more than grin back.

-

He didn’t get the full story of Skip’s Niagara tale until some weeks later. Alex had heard it in snatches here and there, but, as with Malarkey, the appeal of it had been lost in the frequent retellings during Toccoa. Most of E Company had already heard it.

“Like I said, it was a bet,” Skip was saying. “Probably more correctly, it was an initiation of sorts.”

It was coming into November, and the air was colder. The sky was an ominous grey, threatening to rain. Alex rubbed his hands together before tucking them into the pockets of his jacket. He had already been accused of having thin blood.

“I aimed for somewhere narrow, but it’s pretty much equal distance between the banks.”

“Was it difficult?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a bet if it wasn’t,” Skip said with a laugh.

Alex watched as he tucked a cigarette between his lips, casting a quick glance up to the sky before he lit up. Alex blinked when Skip immediately drew the cigarette from his mouth and offered it to him.

“Thanks,” Alex said belatedly, accepting the proffered cigarette before pressing it to his own lips.

“I did it at night,” Skip continued, speaking around the column of a fresh Lucky Strike. “Ma would’ve got suspicious otherwise. Just heading out for a bit! Don’t mind me if I come home completely wet on an otherwise perfectly fine day. Couple of my buddies had an emergency boat on the bank.”

Skip gestured while he talked, using his hands to emphasise his points. He had never met anyone so animated, Alex thought as he watched as Skip’s eyes crinkle at the corners; as he laughed at how he had been swept downstream from the current before managing to drag himself, half exhausted, onto the opposite bank.

“I’d probably have no problems doing it now, after Toccoa,” he finished, busy twisting the remains of his cigarette beneath the heel of his jump boot before he jammed his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“You going to do it again,” Alex asked, “when you go home?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Skip said airily, “depends what you’re going to give me as a prize.”

Alex looked at him.

“I’m not going to do all that for nothing,” Skip told him.

“What about the glory of doing it a second time?”

Skip’s mouth bunched at one corner. “Can’t say that’s sufficient enough.”

“My respect and admiration?”

“I’ve already got those.”

Alex grinned. “You’re bold.”

“That’s what got me over the damn river in the first place.”

-

November turned to December, bringing with it the sharp chill of winter. The cold drilled into their exposed skin, it crept past the fabric of their uniforms and attempted to sink into bone. Alex breathed into his cupped hands before rubbing them together in an attempt to regain some feeling.

“It’s too damn cold for this,” George was saying, the words muttered into the foliage of the bush he was hunched behind. “I swear winter isn’t this miserable back in the States.”

“Shut up,” Joe Toye said, his words all but pressed to George’s ear.

Winter did nothing to cease the field exercises they were to do. The cold made Alex’s fingers feel thick and useless, scarcely in a position to handle a weapon. He hoped that he wouldn't have to experience this sort of cold in Europe.

Beside him, Alex felt someone shift and settle. Immediately, his body tensed, heart jumping into his throat before he recognised who it was. Skip was balanced on the balls of his feet, half his face shadowed by the rim of his helmet. Alex exhaled steadily, then he turned his attention forward once more.

In front of them, at the head of their entire platoon was Sobel, flanked by Evans. Even from the distance, Alex could see the tense line of Sobel’s shoulders as he bent his head over the map. He drew the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, waiting for the inevitable moment when the Captain would lift his head and cast his gaze around in a last ditch effort to pinpoint where they were.

Skip shifted again, dirt crunching under his boot as he leaned forward and placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder. Alex angled his head just so, allowing Skip to murmur something into his ear. What those exact words were, however, was lost in the warmth of Skip's breath unfurling against the arch of his neck. Alex managed to refrain from shivering, but could do nothing for the goose bumps that prickled along this skin.

If Skip felt the way his body tightened beneath his fingers, he gave no indication. Nor did he move. Instead he stayed close, keeping his balance with his hand on Alex’s shoulder until they were signalled to move out.

-

“We’re going to die the moment we step foot into Europe if Sobel’ll be in charge of Easy,” Skip said.

Beside him, Malarkey made a sound of agreement. Alex didn’t respond. Instead he fiddled with his beer glass, drawing a line with the tip of his finger on the surface, and allowing the condensation to collect.

“Penk?”

Alex glanced up, meeting Skip’s gaze. He had been raised not to speak ill towards others, and though he disliked Sobel as much as the rest of Easy, it was his upbringing that kept him from being as vocal. Skip had told him more than once that he was far too polite and his answer had always been that, with a family as large as his, he had to be.

“Winters has been written up for a court martial as well.”

“What for?”

Skip made a face, the corners of his mouth tucking back. “Semantics. Sobel was being an asshole. Word is he’s been saddled to Mess.”

“Okay,” Malarkey interrupted, hands held open and flat before him. “Say if by some unfortunate circumstance a live, unpinned grenade were to slip into the vicinity of Sobel’s being. Skip, would this trouble your conscience?”

“It would trouble my conscience if it didn’t happen.”

“Penk.”

Alex glanced at Skip, then looked back to Malarkey before shaking his head.

“’Atta boy,” Skip said as he leaned across to ruffle Alex’s hair.

Malarkey ignored them both, his face serious. “Men,” he started, “we have to come up with something to save Easy.”

“What, nab him with a grenade?”

There was a pause.

“Skip. You’re a fool.”

“ _What_. Don’t propose something at me. Ask if it would compromise my morals, and then question if I’m in, only to tell me I’m an idiot for wanting some clarification.”

“He’s got a point,” Alex said.

“Forget about it, we’ll start again. And you,” Malarkey added, pointing to Alex, “Quit siding with him all the damn time—“

Alex glanced at Skip, his eyebrows raised in question. Skip shrugged.

“We need to get Sobel out of the picture,” Malarkey continued, “get Winters back in, so at the very least, we have a chance of living beyond the first five minutes of stepping foot in Germany. Any ideas?”

Once more, Alex looked to the man beside him. This time, however, Skip’s gaze was fixed on Malarkey’s face. His mouth was pressed tight together, brow low and furrowed on his forehead. Alex had seen him wear that expression before; it was the same one that came out during training. The same one that he had worn when they were learning to handle mortars for the first time—with their fingers numb from cold, fumbling over the metal of the weapon; feeding the shell in before ducking away as it fired.

Alex shook his head, refocusing his thoughts.

“We need something more proactive than a protest. Hell, a protest would be laughed out,” Skip was saying.

“You could leave the Company,” Alex said without thinking.

He was immediately pinned by two sets of eyes. Alex fiddled with the handle of the beer he still nursed, distractedly aware that the liquid inside had settled to room temperature.

“If you threaten mutiny,” he said only to trail off, allowing the idea to hang between them.

“It could work—” Skip started, speaking slowly.

“If you were interested in being dishonourably discharged,” Malarkey interrupted.

“Unless you have the majority of Easy proposing the same thing,” Alex said, “have a bit more weight than us three.”

Malarkey looked between the two of them.

“You,” he said eventually, pointing to Skip, “quit siding with him all the damn time. I swear I’m the third wheel in this relationship.”

“Don’t worry, Mal,” Skip said, his serious expression giving way to another grin. “we’ve saved a spot for you at the foot of the bed.”

-

The idea of threatening mutiny cropped up again within the next day. Alex worked his fingers into the leather of his gloves, quiet as he listened to Skip speak beside him. He had been talking about his family, about missing home and wishing that he received as many packages in the mail as he did.

“That fudge was something else, Penk. Comes second to how my Ma makes it, I’d say.”

Alex laughed around his cigarette before he drew it from his lips to dispose it.

“I can ask my sis to send more, if you wanted,” he said, the smoke from his cigarette mingling with the foggy air of his breath.

“Only if you’re offering,” Skip said, nudging him with an elbow before slinging an arm about Alex’s shoulders. “Wouldn’t want to outstay my welcome.”

“Hey,” Skip continued before Alex could respond. “Would you leave Easy, threaten to, I guess, if Sobel were jumping into Europe with us?”

It took Alex a moment to adjust to the abrupt change in conversation. He parted his lips before reconsidering and clamped them shut instead. Their pace, by that point, had dwindled to a slow lope. Skip’s arm was still about his shoulder, hand a loose fist against Alex’s upper arm. Alex could feel the heat of his body through the layers of uniform between them. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“Skip,” Alex started eventually. “I honestly think the first thing that Sobel will achieve when he jumps, is to kill himself while doing it. There’s a difference between a practice jump and the real thing after all.”

Skip laughed, pushing away from Alex as he did before stepping close beside him once more.

“You’re right, you do realise. That or he’d wander into some other country. Hey—” Skip said. He bumped into Alex has he spoke, caught up in his own excitement. “Do you know what we should do? We should just give him an incorrect map. One of Australia! He’d never know the difference.”

Skip stopped mid-step, feigned holding a map while scrunching his face into a perfect imitation of Sobel’s

Alex stared for a long moment before being entirely overwhelmed with laughter. He attempted to muffle it with a hand with little success, less so when Skip dropped the ridiculous expression and grinned up at him instead.

“Skip,” Alex managed between bouts, “that’s brilliant.”

“And a compass that always points north,” Skip added, “no, Penk. Listen to me.”

It was only until Alex’s stomach ached from laughter did he eventually settle, though the smile on his mouth refused to budge.

“We should tell Mal,” Alex said as he scrubbed the back of his wrist against the corner of an eye, “you tell him while I find that map, okay.”

-

“—and Ranney got busted to Private.”

“Jesus Christ,” Malarkey said.

Skip made a muted sound of agreement. His head was ducked, eyes trained to the table.

“Shame they stole your idea, Penk,” he said, lifting his gaze as he spoke.

Alex shrugged. “They would have had more success than we would’ve.”

Skip kicked him under the table, the tip of his jump boot digging sharply into Alex’s shin causing him to start in his seat.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said.

“Apologise,” Malarkey instructed.

Alex rubbed his shin. “He kicked me, I refuse.”

“You questioned his ability to charm anybody into our cause.” Malarkey said.

“I stole a map for no reason.”

There was a pause.

“I think he’s got you there, Skip.”

“Regardless,” Alex said, speaking before Skip could open his mouth. “The fact is that he’s outta the way, right? Doesn’t matter who takes credit for it.”

“May these men go down in history as those who purged Easy of the wrath of Sobel,” Skip added, having recovered from being interrupted, lifting his beer as he spoke. “Three miles up, men.”

“Three miles down.”

-

Christmas came and went along with the New Year. There had been some relief in training, the men permitted to roam the greater England on a longer than usual pass.

There was a moment that transgressed between him and Skip that Alex would turn over in his head during the days and weeks following. They had been staying at an isolated inn outside of Aldbourne. Malarkey had long since succumbed to the effects of alcohol and was left snoring face-first into his pillow.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” Skip asked before turning his grin to Alex.

They were sitting at opposite ends of Skip’s allocated bed, legs folded as they concentrated on the game between them.

Alex snorted as he lay down a card. “If he’s your type.”

“What is your type, Penk?”

At first, Alex didn’t think much of the question. He was too busy trying to anticipate the cards to bother with giving more than a vague answer.

“Dunno. Nice looking, good cook.”

Alex bit the inside of his cheek, studying the card that Skip had put down.

“Brunettes?”

“Huh?”

No wonder he was losing, Alex thought as he looked up to meet Skip's curious expression, he wasn’t paying attention at all.

“You prefer brunettes?”

“To what?”

“Bald women,” Skip said, his words coupled with a pointed look. “Blondes, redheads…?”

“I’m not picky,” Alex told him, “like I said, as long as they’re nice looking and a good cook.”

“Preferences, Penk. You’re horrible at this game.”

“I’m not the one who’s losing,” Alex pointed out.

Skip furrowed his brow, confused for a short moment until he glanced to the cards set out before them. “Oh.”

Alex let out a short laugh at Skip’s bewildered expression before muffling himself with a hand, casting a look to Malarkey as he did. Skip grinned, mouth curling at the edges as he tossed his hand of cards aside.

“You know what I like, Penk?” He asked as he swept an arm across the bedspread, effectively knocking most of the deck to the floor.

Alex watched Skip unfold his legs and stretch out his body, coming to rest on his elbows by Alex's knees.

“What do you like?” Alex asked, disguising his confusion with the question.

Skip was still grinning up to him, and Alex couldn’t help but notice the glint of gold in his hair. Maybe he liked girls with hair like Skip; a brown that caught and changed colour with light.

“I like brunettes with curly hair and dark eyes.”

“Oh,” Alex said. The word hitched as it fell from his mouth, almost lost to the room.

He watched as Skip perched his chin on a hand, his fingers pressed to his cheek. The grin on Skip’s mouth had faded, his expression turning serious as he continued.

“I like it when they’re slightly clueless, because it’s cute. Though the fact that they’re entirely competent at what they do, that’s the sexy part.”

“You have your eye on someone, Skip?” Alex asked, “sounds like you do.”

“I suppose I do,” Skip agreed, “I’m just determining my next course of action.”

Alex drew the tip of his tongue against his lower lip. He couldn’t help but feel like he was missing an integral part of the conversation. That and it felt downright strange to be having this type of exchange with someone that he served with. It seemed removed from the situation somehow, and, for a moment, Alex fancied that he wasn’t in Army regulation clothes, that he wasn’t on the wrong side of the world, that this man was someone that he grew up with, that he knew his entire life.

Any earnest, well meaning answer that Alex could have given was interrupted then as Malarkey shuffled in his bed, muttering something about the Irish. Both he and Skip stared, the gravity of the moment lost as they watched Malarkey settle back to sleep.

-

The training restarted as soon as they stepped foot back into Aldbourne. Slipped in between manoeuvring and defensive positions was the study of the country they were to invade.

It started with a brief overview before it was pared down to each and every intricate detail of the invasion; the assigned drop zones, their individual missions— every single minute was to be accounted for, every single action an integral part of the overall venture.

“This is real, now,” Skip had commented late one evening after training, his features pensive.

The way he said it, and how he looked as he said it, had sent a thrill down the length of Alex’s spine; an excitement edged with something he couldn’t quite identify.

That day, they were to study a scale replica of Southern France. The model sat on the table, framed with slats of wood. Alex had never seen anything like it before, and he couldn’t help but feel like a giant as he stared down at it; trying to align what he already studied on maps to what it would physically look like.

“I would have killed for a sandbox like this when I was a kid,” Skip was saying under his breath. “Look at the tiny trees. They’ve got branches and everything.”

Alex bit down on his lip to stop the burst of laughter that was threatening to leave him. He nudged Skip with an elbow in an attempt to get across that it was not the time, not when Winters was standing across from them, brow furrowed as he dutifully committed the landscape of Normandy to memory.

Skip gave him a sly grin.

“Boring,” he said.

“Responsible,” Alex corrected, hoping that Winters’ raised brow wasn’t directed towards them. “Now concentrate before I throw sand on you.”

-

June approached with a rapid determination and, inevitably, did it bring the unknown date they were all waiting for: June 5th, 1944.

It failed to pass however, cancelled when weather threatened the slice of ocean that ran between the two countries. It left the men agitated, their bodies tight with a nervous energy that was difficult to shake off.

Alex stepped out of the tent, allowing the sleeve of canvas to fall shut after him, cutting off the deep timbre of John Wayne’s voice. The air was warmer that night, thicker with the same humidity that had collected over the Channel.

It didn’t take long for him to find Skip perched on one of the crates. He had hooked the heel of his jump boot over the jut of wood and curled his arm around his folded knee.

“Hey,” Alex called as he approached.

Skip responded with a muted sound. He remained silent as Alex settled beside him, and duly scooted across, dropping his leg as he did, when Alex nudged him with a knee for space.

“In a way, it’s disappointing,” Skip said eventually, his voice even, “I suppose I should be glad that we’ve got one more day. But it just makes it worse.”

Alex shifted, moving to curl his arm about Skip’s shoulders. “And now we have to go through all that again tomorrow. It chews up the nerves, doesn’t it.”

Beside him, Skip huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.”

They both fell silent. Alex twisted his fingers into the material of Skip’s jacket. There he felt the rough stitching of the Screaming Eagle emblem. Mindful of its presence, Alex untwisted his fingers and soothed it out.

“Penk,” Skip started.

Alex made a questioning sound.

Skip drew away, forcing Alex to drop his arm from his shoulders. Alex cast Skip a puzzled look, half wishing there was a bit more light so as he could read the other’s face. They had long been draped in shadow, far from the light that managed to seep through the tent.

“I told you before, at New Year’s, that I had my eye on someone,” he said.

“Yeah,” Alex confirmed, the word drawn slowly from his mouth.

“With things how they are, I couldn’t do anything about it,” Skip said, “and I have Faye back home. I love her, too, you know.”

“Of course.”

“But at the same time, I don’t want to leave this place and not let this person know that I care as much as I do. I wasn’t,” Skip said, “but after today—“

“Tell them,” Alex interrupted.

“I am,” Skip said, “Penk—”

The way Skip said his name, strained and earnest, struck him with a sudden clarity.

“Oh,” Alex said after a long moment, the word tumbling out of his mouth.

Skip didn’t make a move to leave at the lacking response and patiently sat, the stiff line of his shoulders the only indication to any discomfort he was feeling. Alex stared at him in the darkness, eyes having adjusted enough to make out Skip’s features. He didn’t know how to respond. It was a bold thing to admit, dangerous in the wrong hands.

Alex moved before he even realized it, reaching out to cup a hand to the back of Skip’s head and draw him close. He pressed his forehead to Skip’s and breathed in the smell of him—of soap, of smoke, and of the clean material of his uniform.

“You don’t have to say anything, you know,” Alex said as he curled his fingers into the fine strands of hair that sat at the nape of Skip’s neck. “We’ll stick together through this, alright. Then after, we’ll go home and you can show me how you swam across the Niagara.”

“Deal,” Skip promised, the word uttered with determination.

The warmth of his breath skimmed across his lips, and Alex leaned in, moving before he had the chance to think about his actions, or the consequences should they get caught.

He was sure his heart was in his mouth when he kissed Skip. It was chaste and brief, no more than a press of his lips to another’s. And as Alex drew away, smile growing on his mouth, he couldn’t help but feel absolutely certain that they were going to make it.


End file.
